And We Hollered Out, Sweet Clementine
by J. Avery
Summary: A lot of people think memory works like a bank... in actuality, it's more of a chain. Images and feelings and once in a lifetime moments interwoven to create individual links. Margaret/Mordecai, Margaret/Rigby, Mordecai/Benson, inspired by the film 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind'
1. Meet Cute

2.

She doesn't understand why he won't just come in.

Margaret watches as he stares at the shop's sign, then he walks to the giant windows and looks through them. She pretends to be looking through the cash register whenever his eyes land on her. He then walks back to the front of the shop, rubbing the back of his head as if in deep thought.

She tries to think of ways to get him to enter.

Calling him over would scare him away, Margaret knows that much. She wants to make it seem like she had no idea he is even there.

It feels odd to her, once Margaret thinks about it. It's like trying to persuade a lost puppy to come along with you. Especially since she knows very well this puppy's got an owner.

Margaret thinks back to his favorite things when it finally hits her.

Making sure to time it perfectly, Margaret goes into the back when he's looking up at the sign. When he goes to look through the window, Margaret reappears with a decently sized slice of chocolate cake.

She places the cake on the counter and looks up into the windows to see him staring. She pretends to be surprised to see him, and she shyly waves a hello.

He waves back, embarrassed.

For a brief moment, Margaret panics. He shouldn't be there and she shouldn't be trying to get him to come in and talk to her. But if that were the case, and if it were imperative that they stay away from each other, why is he there?

Margaret didn't force him to come. Margaret didn't force him to open the door to the Coffee Shop and go to her. It's amazing how free will works.

He smiles all the way up to the counter, and Margaret smiles back.

"Hello sir, I'm guessing you want the special today?"

Margaret pushes the chocolate dessert towards him. He looks down and laughs.

"You'd be guessing right," he responds. He reaches into his pocket, but Margaret halts him.

"New customers get one free dessert," she says.

He seems pleased and Margaret hands him a fork. He takes the utensil and digs in. She wonders how far she can push before pushing to far. Margaret starts with the basics.

"I'm Margaret by the way," she says, motioning from him to sit on the stool.

He makes an amused face at her name and rubs the back of his head. It almost makes Margaret smile.

He holds out his hand and introduces himself when Margaret takes it.

"Mordecai."

"Mordecai?" Margaret repeats. She makes sure to use a teasing tone, to reassure Mordecai's she's just being silly, and he picks it up right away.

"Hey!" Mordecai feigns offense, "it's a family name!"

Margaret snickers, "Glad I'm not in your family."

Mordecai laughs and playfully narrows his eyes.

"Is this how you treat all your new customers, Margaret? Lure them in here with cake and insult their names?"

"It's company policy," Margaret says, dead serious. While Mordecai laughs she holds up a pot of coffee. "Want some?"

Mordecai nods 'yes' and Margaret proceeds to pour the coffee into a medium sized cup. She plops in two sugar cubes and one quick pour of cream and hands the coffee to Mordecai.

"How'd you know how I like my coffee?"

In that moment, Margaret feels her heart leap. In a good way and a bad way. The sight of Mordecai rubbing his head again, this time with a slightly pained expression, tells her which she needs to be careful.

She shrugs. "Just a feeling. I'm pretty good at reading people."

He smirks.

"Margaret, The Psychic Waitress," Mordecai sips at his coffee.


	2. After Hours

7.

Rigby stays for Margaret's whole shift. She panics, but thankfully nothing happens and no one but a few regulars come in.

Margaret feels something solid and heavy drop inside her stomach when she thinks of how Rigby would feel about the last couple of weeks. She knows how he can get; how Rigby is really soft under all the immaturity and ego.

She knows this would kill him.

Rigby sniffs at his coffee while Margaret rubs down the tables one more time. Those coffee stains are hell to get rid of. She only has about three more to clean until she's totally finished, then her and Rigby have the entire night to themselves.

The television that sits above their heads is droning on and on about some new cleaning gadget that apparently isn't like the others. The screaming man in the blue plaid shirt swears by it. Margaret is distracted by the man's big shiny eyes for only and second, then she goes on to clean the next table.

It's almost natural to her now. Clean this table, onto the next one. Clean that table, onto the next one.

The next table happens to be parallel to the one that Rigby is seated. When Margaret leans in to aggressively scrub some mysterious stains, Rigby whistles at her.

"You rub that table down real good baby," Rigby says, smirking.

Margaret says flatly, "You are always welcome to wait in my car while I finish up in here."

Rigby shakes his head. "The view's better in here."

Margaret plops her wash rag into the little blue bucket at her feet. She takes a deep breath and sits on the stool nearest Rigby.

"It makes me feel weird when you say things like that," Margaret says.

The raccoon furrows his brows but is nonetheless smiling.

"What? The table thing or the thing about the view?"

Margaret sighs and shrugs her shoulders.

"Both. All of it."

"Why?"

"It's just weird, okay?"

Rigby sits up straight, understanding Margaret is serious. He says, sounding very adult by the way, "You've never minded before."

Margaret tries to flatten the wrinkles on her uniform apron. She puts her hands in her lap and looks up at Rigby. He is giving her his full attention, with his ears pricked up and his eyes focused on her.

Why does he do that? Why, whenever they talk, does he appear to hang on her every word?

"Well I mind now," Margaret finally replies.

Rigby puts up his hands. "I'll stop, okay? If it bothers you that much, I'll stop."

"No! Don't," Margaret rubs her eyes in a frustrated manner, "don't just stop because I tell you to."

"... So you do want me to keep?..."

"Understand why I want you to stop, then stop."

Rigby's eyes do a quick roll around his sockets and return to Margaret, but a tight, thin line begins to form below his nose.

"Okay, well, I just found the root to this problem. Why do I need to stop?"

"Because it makes me feel weird," says Margaret, sternly.

"Why does it, though?"

"Rigby-"

Rigby says, totally frowning now, "I think I have a hot girlfriend and sometimes I like to say it out loud. Why is that so weird?"

"I appreciate that but-"

"No seriously, Mags. Tell me what's so weird about that. I really wanna know. I wanna hear a full explanation of why I can't just... friggin compliment my girlfriend," Rigby laughs, a bit manic, and shrugs his shoulders to his neck. "I just... I just don't know how-"

"Because I don't deserve it," Margaret says.

She is louder than she intends to be. It's not a yell, or a shout, but a rushed and angry burst that visibly shakes Rigby. Margaret looks away from him. "I'm not some supermodel, Rigby."

Rigby scoffs, like Margaret has told him so unbelievable and out there, and reaches out his hand, but at the last minute he pulls his hand back and full on laughs.

"You're gorgeous," Rigby says, determined.

It does not feel good to hear that. It simply doesn't. In fact, it is the exact opposite thing Margaret wants to hear right now. And the worst part is Rigby will feel as if he's helping, because she's not going to call him out on this, and now the entire point of this conversation has been undermined and Margaret wants to... stop or go back or pull a plan b.

A soothing swell of violins pulls them from their conversation. On the television above them, the screen is black while the music plays and a woman's voice calmly, seemingly, addresses them both.

"Is it all too much? Is it weighing you down?"

As the violins' strings are lightly plucked, a human skull appears against a black background. It's one you'd expect to see in a medical textbook. Suddenly a silver chain wraps around the skull and audibly tightens.

"Do you miss your carefree days? Do you want a clean slate?"

A pair of pliers floats down into view and pulls away the links of the chain, ever so gently. Eventually the chain melts away.

"Do you need to just let go?"

The skull lights up and then in a flash, it's gone and all that remains is final swell of violins. Small white lettering spells out, in a simple yet elegant font, Momenta Iminoa Ared. Some of the letters fall away to simply spell MIA. The violins slow to a stop. The woman finally says, sounding relieved and at peace, "Because somethings are better left behind."

And then the overly joyous white dude in the blue shirt takes the oppurtunity to gush about some new gadget that lets you hang two hundred pound whatever-the-fuck-you-have-in-your-house-that-weighs-two-hundred-pounds-and-needs-to-be-hung's.

Rigby looks over to Margaret. He's waiting, obviously. Margaret;s not sure what for though. Does he expect to to jump up and down with tears streaming down her face? Does he want a long angry rant from her? One that will leave her foaming at the mouth and him with his worst fears confirmed?

She won't though. Maybe it kills him, not being able to know.

"How long is this going to take?" Rigby asks. He scrubs a hand along his face and speaks with sleep in his voice.

Margaret nods, eyes glued to the television.

"Not very long. I'm practically done."


	3. Familiarity

14.

Eileen doesn't call her.

Correction.

Eileen refuses to call her. Margaret learns this when she corners her supposed best friend at work, away from the customers view, and demands to know why she's avoiding her. Eileen looks up at her with tearful eyes and just puts out her hands to keep Margaret away.

"You're going to hurt Rigby," she whispers, out of breath. "You're going to hurt yourself. You're going to hurt a lot of people."

Margaret steps forward, but Eileen has one finger up and her expressions changes from tearful to desperate.

"Enough, Margaret. Please. I don't... I can't be friends with you until you stop acting like this."

"Like what?" Margaret asks incredulously.

Eileen opens her mouth, but soon after shuts it closed. She pushes past Margaret and goes off to serve her customers.

That was two weeks ago.

Eileen still refuses to call.

So Margaret sits on her sofa, alone, watching Pretty in Pink, until three earth shattering bangs on her door distract her from Jon Cryer's dance to "Try A Little Tenderness".

Of course Eileen doesn't have the upper body strength to make such a noise. Rigby especially doesn't. Margaret automatically assumes it's Benson, who has probably found a new reason to bitch her out, which sucks because it's her day off and she's really sure that she hasn't done anything warranting a lecture.

Margaret hesitates getting up from the sofa, feeling much too comfortable for Benson's shit today, and continues to watch the movie.

Three more bangs on her door make watching a bit more difficult than normal, but she ignores them best as she can.

Benson must be extra super pissed at her because rapid fire bangs on her door follow after the last three didn't get her to answer. The assault doesn't stop either, and Margaret grunts as she gets up and sluggishly moves to her door.

"Okay, I get that I'm the enemy or-" Margaret starts with fatigue in her voice, but she is cut off when Mordecai mashes his mouth against hers.

Both of his hands start out caressing her face, but one inches to the back of her head while the other goes to hip.

Because it's as natural as brushing her teeth in the morning, Margaret's arms wrap around Mordecai's shoulders and pull him closer. He tastes like too much toothpaste and cornflakes but Margaret's more concerned with the way Mordecai's trying to suck her lungs into hers and how they're still standing in her doorway for her neighbors to see.

She spins herself and Mordecai around so she can close her door and next thing she knows Mordecai's got her push up against it with her arms pinned on either side of her head.

"As much as I love surprise make outs," Margaret breathes out, "I don't think we should be doing this."

"You matter," Mordecai's breathing is heavy as well. "Of course you fucking matter. And you're not another shadow."

"What?"

"The other night I said I didn't... When I thought about... The metaphor. You're not just some waitress. I don't need to break out of my chains to know you're the realest person I know, Margaret. And you matter."

He goes right back to kissing her, a bit less rushed this time but still hungry and determined to make Margaret breathless.

Margaret kisses back until the very angry, attention seeking elephant in the room bears its ugly head.

"Benson," she squeaks. Wait. Margaret just squeaked. "Benson, your... boyfriend. What about Benson?"

Mordecai groans, "What about him?" and attacks Margaret's neck with his tongue.

It feels way too good in Margaret's opinion, and right now it's her goddamn moral code keeping her from reciprocating how Mordecai would like her to.

She tries one more time, "This isn't going to solve any problems you have."

That (unfortunately?) stops Mordecai in his tracks.

He pulls away, his chest rising and falling frantically, and does that thing with his eyes that lets Margaret know he's trying really hard to restrain himself.

"My problem," he says, "is that I didn't find you sooner. Margaret. Margaret. I don't know if you believe in destiny or any of that fate crap that pile on in movies but... This was meant to happen sooner or later." Mordecai is smiling wide when he moves his body close to Margaret's again. He pecks her lips. "Being with you feels so right. Like we've known each other for years... I never felt this way before."

Margaret takes a really big gulp of air and stares into his eyes. Many feelings can be pulled from Mordecai's eyes, and the fact that Margaret brings that out of him makes her drunk, but the dominant and scariest thing that she gathers from his intense gaze is pure and focused want.

"Not even with Benson?" Margaret asks, taking Mordecai's hands in hers.

Mordecai vehemently shakes his head.

"Especially not with Benson."

Margaret's grip tightens, and Mordecai stays very still. He waits for her, though Margaret's not sure it will last because the guy looks about ready to explode.

He's here. He's here with her. He's here with her and he's saying the words she always wanted to her every since October and it feels like somebody somewhere is cutting her a break. Fucking finally.

She deserves this. She deserves him. And, after remembering a certain word is floating around her head, Margaret knows she's going to get him.

"That settles it then."

They're kissing and touching again, with Margaret unwrapping the scarf from Mordecai's neck and Mordecai running his hand under her tank top and across her white feathered belly. Margaret can't suppress the gasp and giggle she lets out when Mordecai lifts her up off her feet and somehow manages to kiss her even deeper.

Margaret holds onto Mordecai tightly as she's carried away and plays with his hair as she slips her tongue into Mordecai's mouth.

She doesn't tell him where her bedroom is. Apparently she doesn't need to.


	4. Nighttime Conversation

1.

It's late, much too late to be up thinking about the things Margaret is thinking. But she can't help it.

Rigby had come over as he usually did on Saturdays. Margaret turns over in bed to see the sleeping raccoon. He looks peaceful wrapped up in Margaret's yellow sheets, almost like he belongs there. She turns back to face the wall, this time pulling some sheets on top of herself.

Margaret wonders if Rigby wouldn't be too mad if she woke him. Just to talk to him and hear his voice. Not that it comforts her; Rigby always sounds annoyed with her.

But it's better than the silence and she needs a distraction.

Margaret runs her hands up and down Rigby's back. He unconsciously presses against her hands and mumbles pleasantly. Margaret takes the opportunity to start softly talking.

"How are you feeling?"

Rigby does not answer. Margaret moves closer and presses her body against him.

"You seemed really stressed when you came over," Margaret tries again.

Rigby mumbles something about Benson and park funds, but goes back to arching and cooing at Margaret's touch.

She genuinely enjoys moments like this. Moments were it's just them two and they search and touch to drag out the desired noise from the other. It was like a game.

Margaret lets her hands get a bit more curious and she can hear Rigby take in quick breaths.

Margaret whispers into Rigby's ear, "Are things at the park okay?"

Rigby shifts his body so Margaret can touch all of where he wants to be touched. He says nothing notable, just more mumbles about Benson.

She starts kissing behind Rigby's ears. A low growl hums in Rigby's throat. Margaret lets him take her hands and put them where he wants them.

Margaret wants to try one more time before things get more intense, before Rigby realizes, so she whispers into Rigby's ear for the final time that night.

"How's Mordecai doing?"

Rigby turns around to wrap his arms around Margaret's shoulders. He nuzzles her neck and mumbles on about Benson.

Of course.

She closes her eyes. Margaret breathes deeply. She really does like when they're like this. It makes her feel needed.


	5. New Old Feelings

4.

Margaret puts away a dirty coffee mug but freezes when she sees Mordecai standing at the bottom of the Coffee Shop's stairs looking at her expectantly.

"Hey," Margaret snaps her fingers, making it appear that she was trying to remember Mordecai's name. She pretends to give up. "guy..."

Mordecai laughs and walks up to Margaret's counter.

"Looks like your psychic abilities are better than your recall, Mysterious Clairvoyant Waitress," Mordecai teases. "It's me, Mordecai."

"Not ringing any bells," Margaret shrugs and tries to suppress a smile.

"I had a chocolate cake some days ago?"

"Lots of random dudes come in and eat our cake."

"You made fun of my name and made me feel bad about myself?"

"Company policy!" Margaret says, pointing a finger at Mordecai.

Mordecai laughs, "So you do remember me!"

Margaret finally puts the mug away, and when she makes sure her boss was no where in sight, she pulls up a stool and sits to be eye to eye with Mordecai.

"I could never forget such a character," she says.

She feels her cheeks burn, which is either from smiling like a idiot or blushing redder than her own feathers. Mordecai's smile falters a bit when he really looks into her eyes, and soon he's rubbing the back of his head.

"So... Margaret, right?"

"Yes?" Margaret asks, a bit too eager.

"I've been debating whether or not to come back here since our last little exchange."

Margaret's not really listening as much as she should. She just gets the tiniest little thrill out of hearing Mordecai say her name. It's so new and yet so familiar. Margaret's just glad that hasn't changed.

"Why? Was the cake too dry? 'Cause I didn't make it," Margaret jokes.

Mordecai shakes his head, "No the cake was delicious."

"Oh. Well in that case I and I alone made that chocolate cake."

Again, Margaret is able to get a laugh from Mordecai, and it's the best feeling in the world... well... second best feeling she ever got from Mordecai.

"No," Mordecai says, trying to be completely serious, "I think I really like this place. But I've only been here that one time, right? But every time I look at the sign or I look through that window... I get this feeling..."

Mordecai trails off but is looking at her, wanting her to understand what he's saying. Margaret nods her head, because she does understand.

She understands all too well.

Margaret laughs weakly, "Maybe you sense the lingering spirits."

"You'd know better than me, Miss Chloe. Despite the feeling or ghosts or whatever, I couldn't stay away," Mordecai says as he begins to remember something. "Plus, I need a peace offering for the old ball and chain."

"Girlfriend?" Margaret asks.

"Boyfriend, actually," Mordecai says, subtly watching Margaret's reaction.

Obviously Margaret is anything but shocked.

"Oh," she smiles and makes her eyes go wide, "what a lucky guy."

They share a smile. Margaret reaches out and pats Mordecai's hand. He appreciates it, she can tell, but the oddest expression shows up on his face.

He nervously laughs, "There goes that feeling again."

Margaret retracts her hand and awkwardly laughs with him.

"A side effect of me reading your mind."

They both ease up, and Margaret later convinces Mordecai to order some coffee cake and tell her about this supposed boyfriend.


	6. Little Chat

3.

Eileen places her scrapbook onto Margaret's lap and excitedly gestures for her to see what's inside. Margaret does so, and to her surprise New York City hops out.

"I used to go all the time to visit my aunts," Eileen explains. "It was always so glamorous from what I remember as a kid."

One picture in particular, the Empire State building standing tall in a flurry of ice and snow, makes Margaret want to travel to the Big Apple right then and there.

Margaret sighs, "It's all so beautiful in the winter."

"Precisely! Our Christmas vacations are coming up! We should go, you and me." Eileen's smile stiffens a bit and she breaks eye contact with Margaret for only a second when she quietly adds, "To get your mind off of things."

Margaret hears her; Eileen means for her to.

Margaret wonders if now is the time to tell Eileen about three days ago. She knows Eileen would be afraid for her, but Margaret also knows Eileen would want to tell someone.

Still. Eileen is her best friend.

She carefully pushes Eileen's scrapbook onto the coffee table.

"So, I was talking to Rigby about-"

"Thirsty?" asks Eileen, suddenly.

Margaret loses her train of thought and becomes confused by the question. It appears whether or not Margaret is thirsty is irrelevant, because Eileen pushes herself up from the sofa and fetches her friend some water anyway.

When she comes back, Eileen places a half empty glass of water on the coffee table. Margaret notices how Eileen looks down at her feet when she sits back down; the way she wrings her small hands.

Margaret forces a smile and snatches up Eileen's scrapbook once more.

She happily states, pointing to a picture of snow topped trees, "Imagine Central Park under a blanket of white... It really is breathtaking, Eileen."

"Have you seen the ball drop in person? It's amazing!" Eileen squeals while clapping her hands.


	7. Right Number

6.

"Don't be stingy with that sugar!" Don lifts Margaret off the ground, as he usually does when hugging her, and sighs deeply when he releases. "You get more and more gorgeous each time I see you, Margaret."

"Thanks Don," Margaret giggles.

Eileen is watching from the balcony, and she has the biggest grin on her face. Margaret has no idea why she didn't hook Don and Eileen up early. It made more sense then her silly crush on Rigby. Then again everything made more sense when you took Rigby out of the equation.

"How's Rigbone? You know he doesn't answer my emails. Or texts. Or phone calls."

"That's because he's ignoring you, Don."

Don snaps his fingers, "You know what he needs? A cookie basket. A cookie basket to break the ice. Big brothers are like that."

"Margaret, I was telling Don about New York," Eileen interrupts. "Would you mind if he came along?"

Margaret looks at Don in surprise. "Really Don? I thought you hated the city."

Don waves her off with a hearty chuckle and starts towards the balcony. Margaret follows.

"Hate is a strong word. I was just a bit blue because I was away from family and friends. New York can be a lonely place without the right people."

Eileen looks out to the wide stretch of white. Snow had always fascinated her. Snow fascinates everyone, Margaret thinks.

"We can go to the top of the Empire State building, Don," Eileen says, turning away from the view. She adds, with a blush, "We can go, just us two if you want."

Don and Eileen share an adorable look, but Margaret is distracted by her phone going off. She grabs it from her pocket and excuses herself as she heads back inside.

"Hello," Margaret says. She did not expect any calls today.

"With your otherworldly powers, I'm surprised you don't already know," Mordecai's voice teases.

"Mordecai?" Margaret asks, and apparently she's pretty loud because out of the corner of her eye, Margaret can see Eileen startle and stare at her. Margaret shuts the balcony door so Don and Eileen can't hear her.

"Margaret hey!"

"How'd you get my number?"

"Well, I've been stalking you and stole it from your boss and you gave it to me! Remember?"

Margaret takes a moment and then remembers. Yeah she had. Right before he left yesterday night, Margaret had gave it to him on a napkin and told him he'd better call. Mordecai smiled at her brightly, but rubbed at his head.

"Oh! Oh yeah, I totally forgot, I'm sorry," Margaret laughs embarrassed. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Mordecai answers. Margaret listens close and it sounds like Mordecai's alone. There's no background noises. "I was waiting for Benson to come home from the park and now I'm calling my good friend Margaret, the Psychic Coffee Server."

"Aren't you sweet?"

"I know right? I should get like, free coffee for life, that's how considerate and thoughtful I am."

"Yeah, no."

Mordecai is laughing and Margaret is laughing, but once she turns around she notices that Eileen is still staring at her while Don is trying to seem totally unaware of what's going on.

And neither of them are laughing.

"Margaret?" Mordecai calls her name out again, "Margaret you okay? Do I need to call back?"

Margaret avoids their gaze while speaking, "Sorry, I... I'm doing something with a friend and she's giving me the third degree over here."

"I know how that is," Mordecai says, "Rigby's the same way when he's on the phone with his girlfriend. Can't even look at him without getting daggers thrown at my head."

Margaret freezes into place.

"So I think I should go," she says, trying to keep her voice from failing.

Mordecai makes a whiny noise,"Benson's gonna take forever! You sure you can't sneak into the bathroom and-"

"I promise to talk to you tomorrow."

"Fine, fine. I'm holding you to that. Now go off and salvage your friendship." Margaret pulls the phone from her ear, but can hear Mordecai asking her to wait. She pulls it to her ear again. "Margaret?" he asks.

"Yes?" asks Margaret, curiously.

"Being friends with you is the easiest thing in the world."

He could have said anything, really. 'Goodbye' or 'Have a nice day' or another one of those generic things people tell each other when they hang up the phone. But this is Mordecai we're talking about. He's an artist. He thinks too much and Margaret feels her insides jump when the words tumble from his mouth.

Margaret smiles weakly.

"Birds of a feather," she says.

Silence. Then Mordecai's voice is back, somewhat depleted.

"I swear you... Nevermind. Nevermind. Bye Margaret."

Margaret shoves the phone back into her pocket. She turns back to the balcony doors and Eileen is standing there.

Margaret swallows and opens her mouth, but Eileen just shakes her head and walks past Margaret and into her own bathroom saying "please don't, please don't, please don't" over and over again.


	8. Major Upset

9.

Rigby comes over. He nudges Margaret awake while they are in bed and just... stares. Margaret looks on expecting him to say something, but Rigby just keeps on staring. Margaret tries to go back to sleep, but Rigby finally opens up his mouth.

"I was talking to Don the other day."

Margaret smiles a bit.

She tells him, "I glad you're talking to your brother. He really loves you, you know."

"He's going with you and Eileen to New York," Rigby continues. It isn't a question. "I didn't even know you were going to New York."

"You didn't?"

Rigby shakes his head 'no'. Margaret looks off to remember, and apparently she hadn't.

Rigby's face is unreadable. "When did you guys plan this?"

Margaret makes unsure noises and shifts her weight around.

"I'm not sure. It was a... spur of the moment thing."

"Don says this was set in motion three weeks ago," Rigby says. His eyes get that much darker.

Margaret sits up. Rigby sits up too.

"I'm sorry," she huffs, "Is this an interrogation? Are you trying to get me to confess something? It was spur of the moment Rigby. I wasn't even seriously considering it."

"Eileen and Don thought you were serious. Serious enough to invite me too, even."

Margaret rolls her eyes, "Do you not want me to go?"

"No."

"No to what?"

"I want you to go!" Rigby snaps. "And I'll go too."

Margaret buries her face into her hands. "Rigby no..."

"Now what?"

"I'm not cheating on you, okay?" Margaret is shouting now. "The only reason you want to go and the only reason you care about me not telling you, is that you think I'm cheating on you." Rigby's nostrils flare and Margaret can't help the words pushing through her throat and out of her mouth. "Why are you so goddamn insecure? I'm with you, Rigby. If I wanted to cheat on you, I would have done so months ago. But I didn't and I'm here so get over it, please, this is getting tired."

Rigby rips the covers away from his body and stares Margaret down.

"He told me!" he screams, "Benson told me you were at the park house!"

Her first instinct is to lie. No, she wasn't there. Of course not. She was home. She was with Eileen. She was anywhere but there. Margaret's eyes go wide and she begins to seethe.

"Benson hates me! Of course he'd tell you that!"

His face goes back to that unreadable blank that unsettles her.

"He's the only one around here who tells me the truth anymore!" Rigby screeches, and maybe his eyes were watering, maybe not. "You are so fucking selfish!"

Rigby scurries off and Margaret hears her apartment door slam. Her breathing becomes uneven and the words aren't moving from her mouth as freely as before.

"I told you it wouldn't solve anything!" Margaret says to no one. "I told you!"

She pulls at the pillow behind her and, after considering it quickly, screams into it.


	9. Heartaches

8.

"To be honest I think the term 'pansexual' fits better," Mordecai says as he accepts his fifth coffee.

Margaret sits across from him, this time at one of the tables rather than her assigned station. Her boss is too busy with inventory to notice. And inventory usually takes all day, if that.

"I wouldn't like to label myself like that," Margaret admits while shaking her head. "It just leads to trouble."

Mordecai nods understandingly, "Labels limit people."

If there is one thing Mordecai couldn't stand, it would be restrictions and boundaries in life. At least that hasn't changed.

"Is... what's-his-name-"

"Benson," Mordecai offers.

"Benson, thank you, is Benson the first man you've dated?"

Mordecai blinks at her. Margaret feels the rush of panic again. Maybe some questions are spring loaded? Which is so sneaky and unfair because Margaret has no idea what the limits are unless she keeps asking.

Suddenly she realizes that sort of the point. She's not supposed to be asking in the first place.

Ripping herself from her thoughts is Mordecai's easy laughter at the question.

He begins, giggling around his words, "Why do people keep asking me that? I mean, I know why. I don't exactly seem like the poster boy for an 'alternative lifestyle'... Oh Christ. I sound like my dad-"

"I just it would make you uncomfortable, sorry," Margaret lets herself laugh too, so her next question is innocent enough. "I'm probably giving you headaches right?"

Mordecai curiously smiles, pauses, then says, "My head actually feels fine. I haven't had any problems since the last time you saw me."

Margaret glances down at her hands. She decides to keep going; she's already in the lion's den.

"So how many guys have you been with, then?"

"Seven," Mordecai answers, without having to think about it.

"Wow. How... miniscule."

"In more ways then one," Mordecai grimaces at his coffee.

Margaret grins, feeling a bit victorious.

"I'd tell you my body count in detail, but you do have to leave at some point."

"Ha! Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less from you. Heartbreaker," Mordecai jokes. But on the last syllable of 'heartbreaker', he winces. "That felt weird to say. Sorry if that was weird."

"Not weird at all. I've gotten worse reactions."

Margaret wonders if Rigby will call her. She also wonders if Benson will call Mordecai. Surely he's keeping tabs on him. Like some sort of child. "Though, I've never kissed a girl."

"Women are tricky," Mordecai says. He takes a sip of his coffee and suddenly he's suffering the glare of death from Margaret. "Not like that! I meant, with me, I've never been able to... let it stick, you know?" Margaret's glare becomes a confused blank. "Girls get bored with me."

"That's not true. I swear," Margaret says, a little too vehemently.

Mordecai gives her an evaluating look, because yeah that came out of nowhere, but continues, "No matter what I do, I always get the door."

In an attempt to redeem herself, she asks, "What kind of women did you date?"

With a rub of his eyes and another sip of coffee, Mordecai sighs.

"On the top of my head... Amy, another artist type, Tiffani, she clubbed a lot, Pamela, who convinced me into a threesome and then dumped me for the other guy, Jessica, a whiny Cinema Studies major... and Didi. Didi was fucking insane."

Margaret is looking at him pointedly. He shrugs and sips at his coffee, not sure what else she wants for him.

Margaret cautiously asks, "Aren't you forgetting someone?" Mordecai frowns. Margaret rolls her eyes, "You've only dated five women?"

"Hey, trust me, those five were woman enough. And it really doesn't matter now."

"Says you," Margaret says under her breath.

"What?"

"I'm sorry the fair sex hasn't been so fair to you, Mordecai."

He grins at her. "It's cool. Really. It's not like I hate girls or something."

And just like that, Margaret isn't interested in talking anymore. But she still sits across from Mordecai and listens to him ramble on about art and his friend Rigby and how he's surprised Rigby and him haven't ducked in the shop yet to hide from their boss/his boyfriend.


	10. Our House

10.

It starts out as a joke she shares with herself. Because it's just that outlandish. Like something out of a spy movie. She knows the park house like she knows her own apartment, and Rigby's keys were right here, under her sofa (again), though he thinks that he's lost them. And she has the day off, so plenty of time of her hands.

She thinks about herself decked out in nothing but black clothes and war paint and the image makes her crack up.

Then Margaret thinks about where Benson's office might be in the house, and that Benson's usually at his apartment on Fridays. Margaret also ponders that basically no one will be home, except maybe Muscle Man (who is always running around outside pranking park goers) or Pops (who's too busy sketching and keeping Skips on his toes).

She could do it. Margaret could really do it.

Rigby had gotten tired looking for his keys and crashed on her mattress. Margaret looks to see if he's still asleep, and when he is, Margaret puts on her coat and takes a walk.

It's cold enough for most of the snow to stick to the ground, but it doesn't bother Margaret much. She lives relatively close to park grounds, and when she's there it feels like she hasn't walked much at all.

Once on the porch, she doesn't make the mistake of knocking. Instead she peers inside the window, and sees no one near the stairs or in the living room. Margaret uses Rigby's keys and turns the knob quietly.

No one appears to be in proximity, so she opens the door and slips in. Margaret steps into the living room and sees nothing has changed. For a brief second she thinks she hears someone in the kitchen, but no one comes out, so she chalks it up to natural squeaks and creaks old houses make.

Margaret heads upstairs and goes to the third door down the hallway towards the left. Looking around her, confirming no one was coming, she went through Rigby's keys to see which one was for Benson's office door. Rigby labeled them, apparently.

But when she finds the key, Margaret notices the doorknob to Benson's office begin to turn. She panics.

Not knowing what to do or who is coming or if she should just bolt, Margaret moves to left side of the door and it blocks her from the person who was coming out of the office.

And, lucky her, they forget to close the door. Margaret hears footsteps retreating from her. She gathers courage to look but she is alone again.

Margaret has no idea where to look first. The drawers seem like the obvious choice. Walking over to the desk, Margaret notices one of them, the middle drawer, is already open. She digs through it and only finds a few pencils and a rule book. The top drawer takes a little force but Margaret opens it. But it's some chewing gum. The third and final drawer on the bottom is locked. Ding ding ding.

Rigby doesn't have a key for the drawer, but Margaret's no stranger to breaking locks. She goes back to the middle drawer and searches for... yes! A bobby pin! She digs the pin into the bottom drawer's lock and jimmies it around until she hears that ever satisfying click.

Margaret opens the bottom drawer, and sees nothing but a few business cards and a stapler.

Cursing in a hushed and harsh voice, Margaret stands up straight and pivots around the room. If not in the drawers, then where?

She slumps down in the black swivel chair. This went so much better in the spy movie in her head. Filing cabinets line the walls, but Margaret doesn't have the time and effort to search all of them. It has to be something only Benson would think of. Something obvious just in case he forgot, which almost never happened so it wouldn't be that conspicuous.

On top of the desk is a heavily filled out monthly planner that sits under a plate of glass while spreading out over the entire surface area of the desk and a picture of Benson and Mordecai together. Margaret picks it up and considers the smiling couple.

It's not like she wants to hurt him. Either of them. But she can't see how anything is getting better.

She sets the picture down and gets up, defeated. Margaret will have to find another way. That's fine. She's determined. She's patient.

Walking off Margaret checks her mind for anything she might have missed. She goes back to rummage through the business cards again, but none of them are what she's looking for. She throws them down and slams the drawers closed.

Her hand is on the doorknob when she realizes it. She almost kangaroo hops back to the desk and pushes the glass covering the monthly planner to the side but not off the desk completely. Nothing is plainly written on the planner, but Margaret expects that. Instead she looks for a number among the scribbles Benson has made. And it feels painstakingly tedious and she fears that someone will bust through the door any minute, but Margaret sees the number eighty three in a box where Benson has written 'Mia with Reedman'.

Mia. MIA.

Margaret looks for the cabinet with the number eighty three (it's on the right next to the cabinet numbered forty five; they aren't in numerical order) and opens it up only to smile down on a thin folder labeled 'Mordecai' and a leaf green pamphlet. Only a sheet of paper is in the folder, and the only information on it is more numbers and Mordecai's face.

As it turns out, that's all Margaret needs.

She closes the cabinet and rearranges the desk. Margaret takes one last look around, and yes, everything is as she left it.

Frantically she has to make sure no one is around but it's just as empty as it was when was entering, so Margaret takes off and scurries down the staircase as she folds up the paper and crunches it into her coat pocket.

Margaret pauses when in the living room again to double check. She ducks her head into the kitchen and no one is there. She grins to herself.

She turns on her heel and breathes a sigh of relief, but, almost like she had beckoned him, Benson opens the front door at the same time Margaret reaches out to open it.

Her arm remains extended and she refuses to move.

Benson seems to be paralyzed too; he stands in the doorway with his hand on the doorknob staring wide eyed at Margaret like... like he's afraid of her.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, quietly.

Margaret is too shocked to answer. She had expected yelling.

"Er... I..."

"How long have you been here?" asks Benson in a hiss, and this time the surge of anger is very hard to miss. But his voice is still low in volume.

"Benson I know this looks bad but-"

"Did Mordecai see you?" Benson moves away from the door and Margaret flinches.

She feels her feet go cold. "He's here now?"

"Why are you here?" Benson asks again, and now Margaret can tell he'll be raising his voice soon.

They do a little shuffle that leaves Benson at the bottom of the stairs and Margaret in the doorway.

"I... I didn't know he was here."

"Bullshit!" Benson spits, but stops himself from saying anything else.

Margaret figures he's trying to hear if Mordecai is coming, but when his eyes fall back on her, narrowed and livid, she assumes that Benson hears nothing.

"I didn't!" Margaret insists in a persistent whisper. "I'm here for Rigby." Margaret pulls out Rigby's keys. "He forgot them in the bathroom. I was getting them for him."

Benson's eyes intensify.

"How'd you get in?"

"The door was open."

"No it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

"I locked it before I left," Benson says sternly.

Margaret gives Benson the best clueless look she can muster.

"Apparently you didn't, because how else could I get in?"

Benson huffs and advances toward her with his teeth bared, but suddenly a loud groan travels from upstairs to downstairs and Benson's looking spooked again. He pushes Margaret out the door and says to her through his teeth, "This is private property protected by the state. I swear to God I better not ever see you around here. I can't be held responsible for how I'll react next time."

The door slams Benson slides down with his back against it. He grabs the back of his head and pulls his knees into his chest. Benson's so overwhelmed he doesn't even notice the sound of clunky, uncoordinated footsteps travelling down the hallway.

On the top of the stairs, Mordecai is staring down at him with glassy red eyes.

"Benson," he murmurs. "Benson, who were you yelling at?"

Benson's head snaps up, and he attempts to smile at him, but it comes off looking like a grimace.

"No one, Mordecai," Benson slowly stands up and crosses his arms. The blue jay looks tired. Benson's smile improves. "I just... hurt my hand on the door while taking out the trash."


	11. Behind the Eyes

15.

The Coffee Shop is empty today, thank God, because Margaret doesn't want this thing gaining an audience.

It's just between them. Her and Mordecai. The way it should be.

Her manager still orders her to act as if a bum rush of customers can come any minute, so she's got to be on her toes, especially since Eileen's on vacation indefinitely.

One of the other waitresses found her crying her eyes out in the staff bathroom. No one's spoken to her since. Though, when Margaret calls for the last time, Don answers and stiffly tells Margaret that Eileen's a touch sick.

When Margaret asks with what, Don tells her that she already probably knows.

But Margaret gives all of her attention to the here and now; she can always talk to Eileen later. She only gets one chance to do this.

Margaret waits at her station, and it takes a lot of effort to make it seem like she's not waiting at all and just attending to her waitress duties.

Then the entrance doors swing open and Margaret's heart flies up into her throat when she sees Mordecai.

Her heart immediate sinks into her stomach when she sees Rigby descending down the stairs with Mordecai.

It plays out in slow motion almost: Mordecai is smiling and waving at her, but the smile on his face is laced with an emotion only for the two of them. He looks down at Rigby, beaming, then back up at her. Rigby on the other hand is dead in the face. He only smiles when Mordecai looks down at him, and even then his lips are so horizontal it's hard to tell unless Margaret's really looking for it.

Things speed back up to normal when they reach Margaret. She's so conflicted that the task of addressing them makes her nauseous.

"You're gonna love this," Mordecai stage whispers to Rigby. He then tells Margaret, "O, wise and all seeing Margaret! Use your freaky psychic powers and tell me who I've brought with me today."

"Rigby," Margaret breathes out, like his name is an apology.

Mordecai gleefully laughs, "Holy shit! I was just messing around! I didn't think you'd actually-"

"That's my name," Rigby says.

His eyes never leave Margaret's for a minute.

"- Dude are you freaking out right now? Because I'm totally freaking out right now. I didn't even give her a description! Margaret you gotta-"

Margaret asks, growing antsy, "Are you guys on break?"

"- tell me how you do that sometime. Really. That's some Ghost Whisperer shit!" Mordecai takes a breath and punches Rigby in the arm. "Say hi; don't be a jerk."

"Hi Margaret," Rigby says in complete monotone. "Yes we are on break."

"Not like you didn't know that!" Mordecai laughs.

Margaret blurts, "Mordecai you should get a table while I talk to your friend." Mordecai quirks an eyebrow, though the amused grin never leaves his face. "So I can get a proper reading of his aura," Margaret explains. She tries to sound playful about it.

Mordecai looks between them, oddly approving, then goes to a booth near the windows.

Margaret watches, makes sure Mordecai is out of ear shot, then stares down at Rigby desperately.

"Please-"

"Don't 'please' me," Rigby growls, "I wake up today and Mordecai's going on and on about this hot waitress that he hooked up with, and you think you're in any sorta position to start asking favors?"

"Benson is bad for him!" Margaret snaps.

"Says the chick who cheated on him in the first place!" Rigby yells.

Mordecai glances back at them, then turns around again.

Margaret reaches out to Rigby, saying, "I am not going to sit here and make excuses for myself. I messed up, whatever, moving on. I'm also not going to deal with your hurt feelings."

Rigby, in disbelief, questions, "What the hell, Margaret?"

Margaret leans in, inches from Rigby's face.

"The better man won, Rigby. When it's him against you, he wins."

"You think this is just a me and you thing?" Rigby spits out and points a finger in Margaret's face. "Do you understand the shit pile you've just thrown yourself into? You're fucked, Margaret! You. Are. Fucked! And Don's been telling me what's going on," Rigby breaks out in a grin that can only be described as poisonous, "Good luck pissing off the only person who could deal with your bullshit."

"I'm going to fix everything and put it back to normal," Margaret hisses and slaps Rigby's finger away. "So don't you or Eileen or fucking Don worry about that."

"I'm thinking keep it simple and just stick with two coffees!" Mordecai shouts to... Margaret's not sure who Mordecai's shouting to.

Rigby steps back from Margaret and points another finger at her.

"I've said it before and I'll say it," Rigby says, sound out of breath. "You are fucking selfish, Margaret."

He grabs at his hair and looks over to Mordecai, who's drumming on the table top innocently. He looks back at Margaret. "I'm going to the shitter, then we're taking our coffees, then I'm telling Benson." Rigby walks off to the bathroom nonchalantly, but glares at Margaret until reaching the men's bathroom door.

Margaret lets out a pained breath, because it feels like she's been stabbed in the chest and the knife's just been taken out, and feels as if she's going to have a panic attack.

Now. She has to do it **now**.

Margaret flips open the separator that keeps customers from her station and runs over to where Mordecai is sitting at. She slides next to him, and Mordecai grabs unto her arm to keep her from falling.

"Whoa there, Tony Hawk!"

"It feels right when I'm with you too," Margaret speaks quickly as she tries to get Mordecai to stand up, "and it's because we were always meant to be together."

He smiles at her warmly.

"I think about that night too," he tells her.

"I going to fix you. This. I'm going to fix this and make everything right."

Margaret kisses him, deep and hard and needy. She hears a door fling open then closed behind her and decides that it's time to stop beating around the bush.

She stops kissing him and Mordecai's got that dopey expression he usually gets when she kisses him so desperately.

"Okay," Mordecai hugs her close.

Margaret feels like crying, happy tears of course, and when she leans to whisper in Mordecai's ear she knows the tears are coming. It rolls off of her tongue; the word she rehearsed all last night and morning like prayer.

_Erstwhile._

And Margaret steps back, letting hopeful tears fall.

Mordecai's eyes become wide and unblinking. They are glassy and look at nothing in particular and Margaret swears she can see it. Everything. The kisses and touches and admissions of love filling up his brain and the pieces of his heart Benson made him cut out and abandon, and when Rigby comes running over to her demanding to know what's going on and what's wrong with Mordecai, all she can choke out is, "It worked."

Then Mordecai's eyes are on Margaret. He's breathing unevenly and holding out both arms. Margaret is too happy to move and her tears blur her vision. Mordecai takes a few steps forwards and holds her face in his hands. His eyes are trying to take all of her features in, for fear that he'll blink and it'll all disappear.

She waits for him to say something. Anything. Just so she can be sure that it truly worked without a shadow of a doubt.

Mordecai's mouth falls open, and starts to really examine Margaret from her feet then back to her eyes, and it all feels like it used to be. Like how it's supposed to be. Finally, Margaret screams in her head.

She kisses him again. Mordecai is slow to light up but he makes up for it with the sweetest and most earnest smile he's ever slapped on his face.

"Margaret."

It's not questioning of doubtful at all. Margaret throws herself at Mordecai again, and they're wrapped up in each other, with Margaret laughing madly and Mordecai asking if he'd been on a trip because he had missed her.

"No, well, yes. But it's okay, because you're back." Margaret kisses him on the cheek and glares down at Rigby. "You go and tell Benson. If fact, take a few pictures."

Rigby is too busy flipping out to respond directly to Margaret.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

Margaret begins to tell Rigby about her little trip to see a certain doctor, but he story doesn't even start when she feels Mordecai stiffen up. Margaret pushes against his chest to look at his face.

His eyes are closed and his head is jerking in every direction.

Soon Mordecai's body is shaking. She watches helplessly as Mordecai falls to the floor, arms and legs flinging around violently and eyes opened but rolled all the way back. He's making pained, muffled noises as he convulses on the floor and Margaret isn't sure if this is happening or not.

Rigby tries to hold his friend's legs down, and though he's struggling he does gain some control. He looks up to Margaret, grabs Mordecai's right leg once it breaks free and wrangles it back, then shouts, "Someone call nine one one!"

Margaret can no longer hear anything after that point. She feels someone push past her, her boss, then he grips at his hair and points to Mordecai's thrashing body. He's yelling at Margaret. When she doesn't respond he yanks her by the arm and yells in her face, shakes her a little. But it's no use. He runs back to wherever he came from, and now Rigby is yelling at her.

His eyes are fearful and wet, not angry and narrowed like before.

If she reads Rigby's lips, they call out to her saying "Help me! Help me! Don't just stand there screaming! Help _him_, please!"


	12. Operation

11.

Margaret invites Eileen along, and for obvious reasons the mole girl is hesitant.

"I don't know why you want me to come... I'm not sure I even want to go," says Eileen, like she's telling Margaret a secret.

They're parked in front of the building and Margaret is scrambling inside her car. Where are those papers? Where are they?

Margaret absently replies, "You're the only person I trust right now."

"You have Rigby."

"Rigby and I aren't talking," Margaret says.

Eileen looks down at her hands. She wrings them nervously.

Margaret opens the glove compartment on Eileen's side and digs around. Eileen looks up from her hands and tries to make eye contact with Margaret.

"What happened?"

"He found out- Nevermind. It was a stupid fight."

Margaret finds the leaf green pamphlet, but continues to look for the paper with Mordecai's head shot.

Eileen asks, "What were you fighting about?"

Margaret shuts the compartment door in a quick, harsh motion and snaps, "It doesn't matter. Are you going to sit there and ask me dumb questions all day or are you going to help me?"

"You're acting weird, Margaret," Eileen tells her, sounding shaken up. "We should just go home."

Margaret ignores her and begins to search on the car floor. The other paper is amongst a few fast food wrappers and driving tickets. She snatches it from the floor, and when she sees Eileen worried expression she grunts.

"Don't be so damn dramatic," Margaret shoves the papers into her coat pocket. Eileen sits back in the passenger's seat. Margaret knows how the words probably sound to Eileen and she wants to pause everything and tell her 'no not like that I'm sorry sweetie' but she hasn't got the time and Eileen can be so frustrating.

"Just... stay in the car, and I'll call you if something goes wrong," Margaret instructs.

Eileen nods but looks away from Margaret.

Margaret is walking briskly to the front doors when she looks up and sees the giant ivory letters 'MIA'. She swears to herself and strides in.

She isn't anticipating a group of secret agents to knock her out and ask her who she worked for, but she is on her guard. She doesn't feel right about this place.

It looks like a doctor's waiting room. The floors are checkerboard with white and black tile and the walls are decorated with pictures of happy things, like butterflies and kittens in woven baskets. There are chairs, and a few people are waiting in said chairs, and a pretty brunette Margaret assumes is the receptionist is smiling at her cheerfully.

"Hello miss!" Pretty Brunette chirps. "Welcome to MIA! Because somethings are better left behind. Do you have an appointment with Dr. Nero?"

Margaret stomps over to her and slaps the paper with Mordecai's face down in her work area.

"I need the guy who..." Margaret struggled with the right word, "performed on him. Him in the picture."

Pretty Brunette giggles, "That would be Dr. Nero! Recommendation, huh?"

Margaret had this playing out way differently in her mind. But whatever. Looks like she's playing secret agent... again.

Ginny (it says so on her name tag) taps in some numbers on the phone and waits. Her face gets all bright and joyous when someone apparently picks up. "Doctor! Hey! You've got another walk-in... They're a recommendation!" She takes the paper in her hand and her eyes run over it. "... The couple from two months ago. The bird. Yes! Maybe! Sure I'll send her in," Pretty Brunette waves Margaret towards the hallway near the entrance.

Margaret forces herself to smile at Ginny and heads down the hallway.


	13. Friendly Reminder

5.

Margaret does have a lot of plants. She had never noticed until Rigby teases her about it, which reminds her to actually water them, which takes an entire half hour. But she finishes and the whole apartment just smells sweeter.

She's putting the canteen away when there's a knock on her door. Margaret assumes it's going to be Eileen, who is so excited about their trip to New York (Margaret never said she wouldn't go... but then again she never said she would either...) that she just random comes over to look through the scrapbook again.

A second and more impatient knock sounds on Margaret way to the door, and so she assumes it's Rigby.

Opening it up she begins to scold, "Didn't I already give you a key-" but it's not Rigby and she's pretty sure she never gave Benson a key to her apartment.

He's in his usually yellow coat and black scarf, but no winter boots this time. Also, his coat is unbuttoned and his scarf looks thrown on. Benson must've been in a rush.

"Hey, Benson," Margaret greets him. It sounds stale and lifeless when it comes out of her mouth.

"He come home with a headache yesterday," Benson says.

Nothing else is mentioned. Margaret studies the man before her. She doesn't feel threatened or in danger, but he's making her feel on edge for some reason.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Margaret responds.

Benson looks off down the hall, then back to Margaret.

"I asked him if he had any coffee lately, because that usually gives him headaches. He said no," Benson says.

Margaret shakes her head, "That means absolutely nothing to me, but whatever." Benson is getting a little pink in hue, so Margaret rephrases, "I don't understand what you want from me, Benson."

Benson is looking at her. No, looking through her. Like he doesn't even care about Margaret as a physical person and just barely acknowledges her as an idea.

"Is he lying to me?"

"What are-"

"Is he telling the truth," Benson shouts, eyes closed and arms firmly at his side.

Margaret feels her mouth go dry. She leans against the doorframe and scans Benson up and down. She blinks a few times, slowly and intentionally, and then she shrugs.

"How on Earth could I know that? He's your boyfriend."

No one says anything else. Benson is losing his color, granted at a very slow rate, but he is calming down. Margaret rubs her temples and thinks of Rigby, and if he is being caught up in this dumbfuckery.

Benson buttons up his coat and gives Margaret one final look. Margaret hands it right back.

"You're right. He is my boyfriend. You try to remember that."

The gumball machine walks off, jaw tight and body tense. She watches him until his figure totally disappears, and Margaret closes her door again, with a tiny bit of a slam.


	14. Shadows and Gaps

13.

"And we've been dating for a couple of months now," Mordecai finishes.

Mordecai had made it in time to walk Margaret home from work, just as has done for the past four days. He makes the usual excuse of being in the neighborhood, and he has the worst poker face Margaret doesn't have the heart to call him out.

Additionally, she likes the company.

She smiles a bit, "That's a really sweet story. I'm happy for you."

Margaret isn't lying; even if she wishes that she is.

"It's been a dream," he says plainly.

They're bundled up, with Margaret's red pea coat and Mordecai's dark green jumper matching his scarf with the fall colors, and the ice on the sidewalk chills their feet. The only light comes from the cars whooshing past them and the occasional street lamp. Margaret's disappointed the stars haven't come out yet, but a girl mustn't get greedy.

"Dreams are wonderful."

That's all she can say. He obviously wants her to ask a specific question, but he's not helping.

"Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted? All at the same time?" Mordecai abruptly asks, looking over at her. "It's awesome. And sorta jarring."

"You'd be the expert on fairytale endings."

"I'm an expert of many things, dear Margaret. One of them being realism." Not sure where he's going, Margaret stares at him patiently. Mordecai huffs, snaps his fingers and points at her. "Have you ever heard of that philosopher guy, er, Plato?"

"Author of the Symposium?"

"Yeah."

"Never heard of him," Margaret says with a smirk.

Mordecai playfully nudges her and continues with his originally thought. "He wrote this... thing about these two dudes stuck in a cave. And while they're trapped they watch the shadows that appear from a fire burning behind them."

"How _Inception_ like," Margaret interrupts, "but what does that have to do with you?"

Mordecai says nothing. They silently move along the sidewalk, unconsciously linking their arms together.

"Everything real in my life could be a shadow," Mordecai finally says, looking dead ahead.

She considers the metaphor. Then she scoffs.

"Nah."

He exhales harshly and does something between a laugh and a groan.

Mordecai says, "You are totally ruining the whole existentialist thing I'm try to go for."

"I just don't think it's as complicated as you're making it. I mean... You've got a boyfriend and a decent job and really awesome friends. Either you're satisfied with your life the way it is or you're not."

"And it's that simple?"

"And it's that simple. It sounds to me you're just trying to find excuses to be unhappy."

"Why the hell would I do that?" he snorts.

Margaret looks up at him. Up at his face, into his eyes and at the warm yet mischievous smile on his beak.

Margaret shrugs, "You tell me, Plato."

A red minivan drives a little too close to the curb, but luckily Mordecai notices before Margaret does and pulls her close to his side. The deafening honking makes Margaret startle and wrap her arms around Mordecai's middle.

"Watch where you're going asshole!" Mordecai yells at the retreating vehicle whilst shaking his fist.

He then looks down at Margaret with wide, curious eyes. Margaret's not sure why he's looking at her like that until she remembers that her arms are still wrapped around his body.

She hastily removes herself from Mordecai and straightens out her coat.

"People in this town drive with their eyes closed," Margaret jokingly says. Though her voice is shaky and the humor doesn't carry at all.

"Or you've unknowingly pissed off a soccer mom," Mordecai quips back, and he isn't shaken up in the slightest. "In which case you should be on your toes when it's past school hours."

He offers his arm again, and again, Margaret eagerly takes it.

They walk and finally reach her apartment building, but Mordecai insists on walking her to her actual door.

"You never said why," Margaret states.

"You're... going to have to be specific. Why is the sky blue? Or why do fools fall in love?..." Mordecai's tone is teasing.

Margaret rolls her eyes, "Why are you looking for cracks in your life? You've got a decent job and awesome friends-"

"A perfect boyfriend." Without thinking, and she curses herself immediately afterwards, Margaret makes a face at Mordecai's words. Technically it was a grimace. A real sour one. And Mordecai notices. Sweet Baby Jesus, he notices. "What the hell was that?"

"Nothing just..." Margaret's mouth dries up and she can't think clearly.

"You made a face," Mordecai slowly slips his arm from hers. "Why'd you make that face?"

Margaret thinks of a lie, but it's so transparent it hurts when it flies out of her mouth.

"There's no such thing as a 'perfect' anything."

It almost seems like Mordecai is going to run off, the way he's looking her up and down. But he stays and skeptically studies her.

"Care to expand on that sentiment?" Mordecai asks, but it sounds like a dare.

Margaret gulps, but she is able to appear collected. She chooses her words carefully.

"It ties into what you said before. About the shadows. You can only really know if something's real until you break the chains and check out for yourself," she takes a breath, as if she has been running, and goes on, "but my point still remains. You're looking for a problem where there isn't one." Margaret adds, uncertain, "Maybe."

Mordecai loses some tension in his body Margaret never realizes is there to begin with, and nods.

"Maybe."

They awkwardly stand around until Margaret motions for him to follow her inside. He does so and they make their way to the elevator.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mordecai is glaring down at his feet. She feels compelled to say something. Something along the lines of an apology.

"For all I know he could be perfect," Margaret says, shoving her hands into her coat.

"I'm sorry," Mordecai turns to face Margaret completely. She has to admit it's a little intimidating. "I saw you make that face when I mentioned him and I went in all 'Defensive Boyfriend' mode but I said 'perfect' in a sarcastic sort of way so what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing!" Margaret shakes her head and gives his arm a squeeze. "I was just being judgmental and catty."

"I like it when you get catty," Mordecai says, grinning slyly, but as soon as the words leave his mouth he deeply frowns. "Wow, okay, that came out of no where. Rewind, erase, start over. I'm sorry, Margaret."

Though Margaret appreciates the unexpected and familiar flirtation, she hides her excitement when she observes him wincing and rubbing at the back of his head.

"Well... I want to be sorry too," she says.

The elevator dings because they're on her floor. He gestures for her to go before him, and they make their way to the door numbered two hundred and ninety six. Margaret pulls out her keys, but pauses when she finds the key to her door.

Mordecai asks softly, "Something wrong?"

There are one billion ways Margaret can answer the question, but she decides to keep it simple.

"Do you think I'm a shadow?"

"What?"

"You were referring to everything in your life being a shadow. I assume I fall under the classification of 'everything'."

Mordecai looks at her like she just appeared, like he is seeing her for the first time in years and the very sight of Margaret shocks him.

"I... I don't really..." he stutters after opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Margaret breathes in audibly and puts her key in the slot. Mordecai holds up his hands. "Whoa what did I say?"

"In this ridiculous 'World of Shadows' theory you concocted, did you ever stop to factor me in? Once? At all?"

Margaret knows her frustration is confusing to Mordecai, because in his mind he has no reason to consider her. Not anymore. But knowing that Mordecai can't control it makes her more frustrated, thus making her even more irrationally angry.

"Margaret, I mean this in the most benevolent way possible, but you're a waitress. Who serves me coffee and chocolate cake."

"And?" Margaret says, a hand on her hip.

"This is stupid-"

"And? And? Say it; come on!"

He massages his eyes with the heels of his hands, drops his arms at his sides and makes a hissing sound before finally saying what is on his mind.

"At the end of the day it doesn't matter. You..." Mordecai trails off.

Margaret sees the dread on his face. The implication he makes is out in the open. He's just to chicken to own up to it.

"I don't matter," Margaret finishes for him. "At the end of the day, Margaret the Waitress doesn't matter."

Mordecai says, or more correctly, shouts, "It's just a stupid metaphor!"

"You do this every time! Whenever," Margaret starts, but then Mordecai has the confused face again and Margaret stops herself.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Margaret opens her door (dropping her keys but picking them up like her life depended on it) and rushes inside, despite the protests coming from Mordecai.

He knocks on her door, demanding over and over again that she come out and talk to her like a fucking grown up, but Margaret stands against the door with her eyes closed. She drowns him out with her own thoughts and worries; she pretends he simply disappeared.

Margaret opens her eyes when she doesn't have to pretend anymore.


	15. Explanation

12.

"And it was the gumball machine man who recommended you?" Margaret nods but stays silent. it seems like a bad idea. He slides over to his computer and types something up, then addresses Margaret again, "That was the fifteenth. Of two months ago... I assume he's just in tip top shape now, the young man."

Margaret wordlessly nods again.

"A fine pair! But the younger looked absolutely terrible when we got him. He had a lot of links we had to break apart. Poor soul."

"What," Margaret fidgets in her chair. Dr. Nero watches her with kind patient eyes. "what does that mean exactly? 'A lot of links'?"

He smiles and slides back to face Margaret from across his desk.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Mar... Marie. Marie is my name," Margaret lies. It seems like a bad idea to give her real name, just in case she's in Mordecai's file.

"Marie, at MIA we perform a service called 'delinking'. People make the mistake of thinking of memory like some sort of bank. But in actuality it's much more complex. In college when I was studying to become a child psychologist, I noticed children who experienced... trauma of sorts, would have a strange imprint on the brain. An MRI would reveal this imprint to be a chain or neurons. Brain cells."

Margaret interrupts, "So you just go into peoples brains and cut up their brain cells?"

Dr. Nero laughs, "If only it were that simple! Delinking is one part finding the chains, another part isolating specific neurons. With the children I worked with, I'd make... small missteps. Making them forget their own birthdays... forget what language they speak... some simply forgot everything. But I learned that if I kept the patient awake that I could see certain chains were located in certain areas of the brain, and those chains will have certain neurons linked together to make up a memory."

"I..." Margaret avoids the doctor's eyes, "perhaps you could explain what you did for my friends?"

"Gladly!" Dr. Nero slides back to his computer once more and reads over something. After clicking his mouse exactly twice, he looks over to Margaret. "Your friend and his partner came in for the usual reason for a delinking, forgetting a relationship gone bad," Margaret sits up straight. Had that been Mordecai's exact words? "The team and I connected his brain to the mother computer in the back. Once we got a good view of his brain, your bird friend talked of every instance and memory-" he pauses , "That a Margaret person was involved in or associated with. After that, it was smooth sailing."

Margaret must look as sick as she feels, because Dr. Nero takes another pause and studies her with furrowed brows. She forces herself to laugh.

"This is all so much! I never knew erasing your memory was so much work!"

Dr. Nero looks over Margaret shoulder, and motions for her to lean closer. She hesitates but ultimately does so, and Dr. Nero has the most amused smile on his face.

"A little secret between me and you? The memories never go away. I'd have to destroy the neurons; much too risky. Instead we delink the chains, rearrange the undesired ones into a new memory and empty out the cells that we need to."

Margaret asks in an excited whisper, "Empty? Empty them where, doctor?"

"I'm quite proud of myself with this one!" Dr. Nero whispers back, giddily. "There's a deep, dark, almost unreachable part of the subconscious that can only be reaches if you're looking for it."

"So if someone I loved wanted me to remember, what could they do?"

"I couldn't tell you that," Dr. Nero says wearily. "Well, I could but I could lose my license."

"I'm especially good at keeping secrets, doctor," Margaret says.

She gives him the eyes. Dudes always go a little nutty when she smiles sweetly and looks at them like there's no one else in the world. Dr. Nero beams.

"Oh alright! But only to help make a sale," he winks, "I always leave a failsafe in a patient's mind, just in case of necessary relinking. A word that I programmed to instantly scramble the neurons back to their default locations and chains. Though the words vary from patient to patient."

Margaret leans back in her chair, laughing softly at the new information. Dr. Nero starts to chuckle too, and soon they're both laughing like old friends remembering an inside joke. A sudden ring of his telephone weakens the doctor's laughter, even though he's suppressing giggles when he answers.

"Tim Nero, Delinking Expert. Ha! Hello, Patricia... No I'm just, haha, I'm just with a potential client... What's... oh?... that sounds like a lawsuit... No, you're not the first doctor this has happened to... No, I'll just take a look see." Dr. Nero holds the phone away to talk to Margaret, "I have to go into the left wing to attend to a patient. Will you wait here? We can arrange an appointment when I return."

"Take your time, doctor," Margaret assures him.

Dr. Nero goes off, and Margaret sits still until she hears the door behind her closes. Margaret takes hold of Dr. Nero's computer monitor around and it's at his desktop. She pulls the keyboard and mouse towards her. There are so many icons, so many that it makes Margaret's head hurt, so Margaret goes for the most obvious one, a folder icon labeled as "Work".

If it were any other situation, she may have laughed at the variety of rock and roll mp3 tracks that pops up.

Margaret goes back to the desktop and clicks on the icon under that, labeled "Schedule". She is brought to a calendar for that month, showcasing all of the people that have signed up for their "delinking". Every day is full. Margaret just might throw up. This information is all well and good, but it only shows Margaret the future patients of Dr. Nero.

Going back to the desktop and hoping that the third time is the charm, Margaret searches again. "Files"? Too vague. "General"? Seriously? Ugh.

And like the biggest dummy smack in the face, a little notebook icon with the label "Records" sits in the center of all of the icons. If it were anymore apparent Margaret would be embarrassed.

She clicks and a long haired woman with sandy blond hair appears. Margaret notices it's in the same format as the paper with Mordecai's face. Except it's much more detailed with personal information. Margaret reads the woman's name as Laura Kingsley... She looks for a date... any date... date of birth is March 18th 73'... date of operation? Did he call it an operation?... date of delinking, ah, there it is. Margaret is able to confirm this is what she needs, but she can't help but look over the woman's reasoning for delinking.

"Passing of child" stands out cold and honest on the computer screen and Margaret has to click to the next page.

The first few people are from the week prior. And Margaret does not have the time to keep clicking away. She looks off to the sidebar and sure enough there are specific days, weeks, months... years... of past clients. Margaret goes to October fifteenth and there are only two past clients for that day.

An elderly man who listed "PTSD/Nightmares" as his reason, and Mordecai. His reason, in two words, was "Past relationship".

That's all. That's all Margaret was. A past relationship.

After sifting the usual crap, Margaret sees no word or failsafe whatever the doctor was talking about. Until she hovers the mouse over the corner of the page, which flips the virtual page over and reveals in large letters:

"IN CASE OF IMMEDIATE AND NECESSARY RELINKING"

And below that, the word.

Margaret feels no need to write it down, she is sure she can remember it, and exits out of everything. She puts the mouse and keyboard in it's original positioning but before she can do so for the monitor, Dr. Nero opens the door.

He is laughing out into the hallway, "Next time we should just get some popcorn and enjoy the show, right?"

Margaret sits up and crosses her ankles like a lady, and the doctor grins at her while returning to his seat. When he's in it, he does a double take of his monitor.

"Was that like that when I left?"

"Not sure. So I'm just going to go," Margaret says as she gets up.

"What? But you didn't even schedule an appointment! We didn't even discuss your reasoning for wanting to delink your memories."

Dr. Nero stands up and appears to be hurt by Margaret's abrupt departure.

Margaret sucks on her teeth, "Yeah, don't get me wrong, I love the idea, it's just that I've decided to deal with my memories. Like an adult. Because that's what's adults do."

"Huh. I see. Marie, I can tell you're a woman of a sharp mind and a strong will," he reaches over to his stack of business cards, grabs one and walks over to Margaret to hand it to her. "But if it ever gets to heavy for you, calls us and we'll help you leave it all behind."

"Sure, thanks," Margaret takes the card out of instinctive politeness and leaves. Margaret rips it up halfway to the car and throws it on the ground. She feels bad that she's not being particularly nice, but then again the man is ruining people's lives under the ruse of helping them, so it all balances out in her opinion.

The drive home is silent. Margaret is too busy planning how everything should happen and where it should happen. It gives her a strange sense of empowerment; knowing she can turn everything back to normal.

She knows that if Eileen understood what she just learned from Dr. Nero, the mole girl would be overjoyed, instead of staring at her like she's locked in the car with a stranger.


	16. Filling in Gaps

16.

Margaret and Rigby are in one of the waiting rooms when the double doors on the left side of them slam open and Benson runs through making a beeline towards her screaming like he's gone insane. He probably has. Margaret doesn't blame him.

"Tell me what you did!" He points at her and Margaret sees his bloodshot eyes and the way his arm trembles. "Tell me what you said to him!"

Margaret stands up and says frantically, "He just started-"

Benson's leering at her, breathing raggedly with enraged tears pooling in his eyes. Rigby cautiously rises from his seat. Benson's hands are clenched into fists, discouraging Margaret from saying anything further.

"Look at him," Benson points towards the glass window into Mordecai's operating room. Dr. Nero forces one of Mordecai's eyes open then goes back to scribble something on his clipboard. "Look at what you did!"

"I didn't mean for this-" Margaret says, voice breaking.

Benson reaches up and pushes Margaret's chin toward the glass window, forcing her to look, and barks again, "_Look at him_!"

"Dude, watch it," Rigby growls.

"I'm sorry, Benson, I'm so sorry..."

Benson's whole expression becomes exaggerated and (somehow) even more furious than before.

"You're... You're sorry? You're **fucking** sorry?!"

And with that, a hard, ice cold metal hand travels across Margaret's face and it takes her entirely too long to realize that Benson has slapped her.

Benson halts the tiniest bit, realizes what he's done and is frightened at his reaction, and Rigby's about ready to pounce until thankfully Skips enters wordlessly, bounds across the room and snatches both of Benson's arms to pull them back. He's kicking and fighting against the yeti and everyone is shocked to see Skips actually struggling with the fired up gumball machine. Pops runs to Margaret's side while Skips proceeds to lift Benson up with very little effort and carry him out of the room.

But Benson doesn't stop screaming at her.

"He could have _died_! Let me go! He could have died! You could have killed him! You could have _killed_ him! You could have-"

The screams switch over to uncontrollable, unintelligible shrieks and sobs, all intended for Margaret.

Muscle Man and High Five Ghost observe from a corner. Their silence and inability to meet Margaret's eyes tell her all she needs to know. Rigby goes back to the chairs, sitting three seats away from Margaret, looking out the glass window. Pops lays a concerned hand on Margaret's shoulder.

The old lollipop's man face is so questioning... so pitying... Margaret's face crumples and she tries to speak with her throat closing up and a heavy tongue.

"I didn't mean to!" She says to Pops. Pops just pats her on the shoulder.

"I know. We know. It's alright, Ms. Margaret," he tells her, sweetly.

Margaret yells to everyone and no one specifically, "I didn't mean to! I swear!"

Rigby's eyes flick to her for only a millisecond, but they're full of fire and something so thick it makes it difficult for Margaret to breathe. Muscle Man and High Five Ghost go on pretending they don't hear her.

"I swear, Pops, I swear," Margaret says. She listens to herself and shakes at how broken she is. "I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to..."

Pops pats her on the back, making small circular motions, and looks into the glass window. His face falls when he sees the doctor watching over Mordecai.

Mordecai lays still in his bed while a giant white... thing... takes pictures of his skull every five minutes. Another machine is keeping track of his heart, which by the look of things, is beating erratically.

The hospital moved Mordecai to a special wing of the building upon their arrival. They've seen cases like his before, and they needed to get him under Dr. Nero's care immediately.

It's an entire one hundred years before Benson finally stops screaming. Pops leaves Margaret to go check on Skips and Benson himself.

Muscle Man notices Rigby's gaze shift from Mordecai to Margaret.

"Oh, bro, bathroom break," he nudges Fives, and the two make themselves scarce.

Margaret doesn't look at Rigby. She just focuses on the contraception hovering over Mordecai and hopes it isn't hurting him. It's like a big white box with a wire connecting to a smaller box rotating around his head, periodically stopping to presumably take pictures or scan his brain or something.

"You okay?" Rigby asks, his attention going back to Mordecai.

Margaret slowly nods.

"It looked like he hit you pretty hard," Rigby says.

There's a hint of frustration in his voice, though Margaret doesn't see any need to point this out.

Dr. Nero is no longer in her line of sight. Margaret slumps back in her chair.

"I deserved it," she finally says. Rigby makes a noise of agreement and hops out of his chair. His hand is on one of the door handles when Margaret calls for him to stop. He glares back at her, not really interested in what she has to say, but still giving her a chance to say it. "Rigby."

"I gotta call Don and Eileen and tell them what happened."

Margaret sees Dr. Nero return out of the corner of her eye, and for a moment her thoughts escape from her, but when Rigby dramatically taps his foot Margaret is back on track.

"I want you to know none of that was fake. You and me. In the beginning." Rigby furrows his eyebrows so Margaret repeats herself, louder this time, "I wasn't faking those feeling with-"

"I heard you," Rigby says, rolling his eyes.

"Well I mean it."

Pulling one of the doors open, Rigby looks down at the floor and goes all slack jawed. He doesn't respond, but Margaret swears she hears Rigby chuckle before exiting.

Margaret pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs them. The lights above her eventually go out, and her eyes slip closed.

It feels like it's only a second later when the double doors slam against the walls and Margaret wakes up with a jump.

She forgets that she had fallen asleep.

Benson stands near the doors, looking first at Mordecai through the glass window, then gradually moving to Margaret. His anger has become less explosive and retreats below the surface. Margaret feels it; it burns her up, but at least he is keeping his hands to himself.

Margaret lowers her legs back down to the ugly off white linoleum floor and stops herself from asking questions when she takes note of the jacket Benson is nuzzled in. It's Mordecai's, draping around Benson's shoulders and making him look so much more smaller than he already is.

"You were asleep for three hours; it almost one," Benson informs her.

Margaret stretches her arms out and yawns. Benson still stands by the doors, though Margaret wishes he wouldn't.

She asks him, tentatively, "Did Rigby call Don-"

"Eileen came in, saw him, then bolted out crying. Don took her to the cafeteria to calm her down," Benson answers.

Margaret closes her eyes. The information literally hurts her. She sends a mental apology Eileen's way. And Mordecai's way. And Rigby's way. Margaret basically apologizes to everyone she knows.

"I'm assuming you've told everyone else to give us some privacy?"

Benson quirks his head at Margaret's words. He walks from the double doors and sits only one seat away from Margaret's right.

The lights in the room are so bright, Margaret notices that Benson is squinting somewhat. Margaret checks how things are going on the other side of the glass, and panics when that great gigantic machine is gone and no longer observing Mordecai's head. The doctor is gone too.

"He has all the pictures he needs," Benson tells her. "Dr. Nero has enough to know what happened, at least."

Margaret is unsure of what to say next, so she awkwardly crosses her ankles and her arms. Benson scoffs, but says nothing.

Mordecai still lies in his bed with white sheets. Margaret sneaks a peek at Benson and he's watching Mordecai. His face is something between fear and exhaustion. Maybe with a little rejection thrown in for good measure.

"I'm sorry."

Margaret almost falls out of her chair. She turns her head to gawk at Benson.

"You... What?"

Benson scrubs a hand down his face, then shoves Mordecai's jacket back on his shoulders when the movement makes it slip off.

"I'm sorry. Not so much for the slap, you had that one coming, but..." Margaret can see Benson trying his best to give her a genuine look of repentance. "If the roles were reversed, I would have done anything and everything in my power to... get him back."

Hearing it out loud isn't enough to make Margaret believe it. She holds in her wonderment long enough to narrow her eyes at Benson comment about the slap, and to try to cope with Benson's attempt to... sympathize with her.

"I'm asking you to be okay with being left behind, and that's not something people react to rationally," Benson continues. He sighs, and finally says, "So I apologize. Really."

"Had I known... If I could undo everything..."

"You can't. It would be great if you did, but we both know it'd probably happen again anyway."

They both look over to check on Mordecai. He's still lying there like a brick.

"Did you... Did he want to?" Margaret asks.

At first Benson narrows his eyes, but then he gets what she's talking about and his face becomes unreadable.

He bites his lower lip, "I suggested it. That's all. I didn't give him any ultimatums or threats... I made a suggestion and he made a decision. He's a grown man, Margaret."

Margaret can't help the edge to her voice, "I don't believe you."

"I wouldn't believe me either," Benson says, and she's surprised he didn't get upset and slap her again. "He loves you, Margaret. He loves you..." Benson trails off.

Margaret feels her jaw stiffen.

"Say it."

"He loves you more than me," Benson finishes. The words fight their way up, pushing their why through Benson's teeth and Margaret thinks he's going to throw up.

"Then why-"

"Because he didn't want to," Benson answers, and then painfully spells it out for Margaret when she doesn't seem to get it. "At the end of the day he saw that he couldn't be faithful the why he wanted to be. And when the feelings didn't die on their own he just," he makes a gesture with his hands resembling a pair of scissors. Margaret feels herself sink. "I tried to make him reconsider," and Benson frowns at Margaret's disbelieving look. "You don't have to believe me, alright? I'm just telling you how it happened. I tried to change his mind... But he told me, while crossing the t's and dotting the i's, 'either one hundred percent or nothing'... And now here we three are."

Margaret shoots up from her chair and walks over to the double doors. She barely touches the handles when she decides- fuck it - she'll say it anyway.

"I appreciate you telling me this, but please don't get offended when I say that I still think you're a piece of shit," she tells him.

"Quite alright," Benson says, too tired to muster up any venom, "I still think you're a home wrecking bitch."

"Then we're on the same page."

Benson stands up but keeps his distance.

"No, that was the whole point of me telling you this. We are not on the same page. We're two different books entirely."

Margaret raises her voice and steps closer to him, "He loves me more. You said that yourself; you admitted it."

"Do you really think this is a game of who loves who more?" Benson speaks like Margaret's five years old, "None of that really matters when you compulsively hurt the other person. You guys had somewhat of a... parasitic relationship."

"What are you talking about?" Margaret inquires, her voice becoming shrill. Benson pointedly glances over to the glass window. Margaret adds, "You know what I mean."

Now Benson is letting some of that dormant rage come out in his tone.

"I'll answer your question with one of mine. After you fucked that bartender from whatever rat hole you found downtown, who did Mordecai come to?" Benson holds up one finger. "After you got wasted and destroyed a good chunk of his paintings, who offered to buy the damaged pieces-"

"I don't even remember that happening-"

"- for double the prices they were worth? Three guess and the first two don't count," Benson holds up two fingers. "Who watched those ridiculous movies-"

"- I don't remember _any_ of that happening-"

"- he loves, to help him get over the fact that you dumped him for his best friend?" Benson holds up a third and final finger, and just as quickly as it reappeared, Benson sharpness disappears. "You remember the things you want to remember. And now that Mordecai's literally doing the same thing, you want to play the victim card?"

"Mordecai's not innocent," Margaret counters, "He's hurt me too."

"There are people who simply can't help tearing other people down. And frankly you've both been enabling each other for too long."

Margaret finally shouts, "You can't pretend like me and him never happened!"

"I know _I_ can't," Benson says. "But maybe you should."

Dr. Nero walks into the room, as if cued, and sees the two of them in each other's faces.

"Oh... Should I come back?"

"No," Benson and Margaret say at the same time, and both seat in their corresponding chairs as the doctor pulls one up and sits in front of them with a manila folder in hand.

His eyes study Margaret. She expects a judgmental glare, but instead he looks sympathetic.

"Mr. Benson," Dr. Nero says, "Are you comfortable with..." he motions to Margaret.

"Yeah, she can stay," Benson murmurs.

"Right. The relinking word, which was supposed to be used by an official in a controlled MIA procedural room, caused his brain to overload with buried information. Luckily, he's a tough one you've got in there, so his brain hasn't fried like an egg... Like most would have in his position." The doctor glances between the two of them. "Had he been a brought here a moment later, his brain would be as good as putty."

"Christ," Benson breathes. He shoots a worried look over to the motionless Mordecai and pulls his (Mordecai's) jacket tighter around him.

"With some carefully reconstructed chains and artificially replicated neurons he should be back to his regular self in," he makes unsure noises and checks his folder. "Ah! A real fighter this one! He'll be fine in about a week."

Margaret and Benson sigh with relief. Dr. Nero smiles at them, but them sits up in his chair when he lets his eyes rest on Margaret.

"Do you want to tell me something, doctor?" Margaret asks, sitting up as well.

The doctor at first leans on his hand and looks over to Benson, expectantly. Benson blatantly looks away from either of them.

After it's made clear that Benson isn't talking, Dr. Nero only looks at her a beat more before standing up and smiling again.

"Mr. Benson, I wish you and Mordecai the best. I really do," he puts out his hand and Benson takes it.

Benson grins back, albeit faintly. "Thank you, doctor. I'm just happy that he'll be okay."

The doctor pays Margaret no goodbye, except a small half smile she's not sure he means for her, and turns on his heel to breeze past the double doors. It's Margaret and Benson again, and when she notices Benson getting something from Mordecai's jacket she strikes a defensive pose.

"Calm down, Jackie Chan," and Benson presents a video cassette to her. "A gift from Rip Van Winkle over there."

"A tape?"

"You're so observant!" Benson says in mock astonishment. His faces falls back to into it's usual pissy/exasperated scowl and he shakes the tape to make Margaret take it from him. "Watch it, all of it, then talk to me."

Margaret turns the black rectangle over in her hands. She stops turning it over when she notices a business card taped to the front where the label should be. Margaret rips the card off and reads it aloud.

"MIA offices, open from 8 to 6 on weekdays," Margaret flips over the card and reads what someone wrote on the back. "You're better off without him, too. Love, Tim."

Margaret starts to shrilly ask Benson what this was all about, but Benson is gone. She doesn't even hear him leave.


	17. And Many More

18.

Margaret blinks repeatedly, as if just waking up from a really long nap, and looks down to see Rigby smiling up at her.

"You okay Hot Wings?" he coos.

"I'm great," Margaret bends down to peck Rigby on the lips. She pulls him by the collar gently and says, "but don't call me Hot Wings."

"Can do, babe."

She rolls her eyes at Rigby and goes back to what she was doing before she dozed off: trying to find the champagne before time ran out. The new year is coming and Margaret wants to be sloshed.

Rigby invites her to the party the park employees are throwing, mainly because it doubles as a going away party for them and Don and Eileen. Eileen (Margaret swears she got this from nowhere) just up and decided the four of them were going to New York. She doesn't know why the travel bug has bitten Eileen, but Margaret loves it.

They're in the kitchen, naturally, and while Rigby sits on his ass and eats Chex Mix Margaret searches valiantly for that champagne.

"If I don't find that champagne, you don't get your New Year's kiss," Margaret warns Rigby in a sing song.

Rigby sings back, "What if I just took your kiss without asking?"

"As sickeningly sweet as this banter is," Margaret hears Benson say, "It's unnecessary."

Benson holds up two bottles of champagne and Margaret up and hugs the man. The sudden physical contact surprises Benson at first, but then he's smiling ear to ear.

"You're a party girl's dream," Margaret relinquishes one of the bottles from Benson (it felt weird being first name basis with Rigby's boss of all people) and heads back into the packed living room.

She's still a tiny bit embarrassed that she and Rigby are the only ones not dressed up. The other guests, the other park employees, even somebody's dog, are dressed to the nines.

Margaret has on some jeans, a yellow t-shirt and her very worn down black flip flops.

A tap on her shoulder and Margaret is brought back from her thoughts and into the presence of a guy she's met only a few times with Benson on a double date, but unfortunately can't remember his name.

He seems to see her struggling and smirks.

"'Hello Mordecai,' the pretty red head chirps," Mordecai says with a high pitched voice.

"I do not sound like that!" Margaret playfully punches him in the arm.

"Er... that awkward moment when you do sound like that."

"Jerk."

"Person!... With a weird sounding voice!..." Mordecai shoots back, lamely.

Margaret raises an eyebrow, "Now that it's out of your system, how are you and Benson doing?"

Mordecai lights up. Margaret feels his whole body language open up and shine and God Benson is a very lucky guy. Mordecai is too, when she really thinks about. They're perfectly matched to the point of aggravation.

"He's great. I'm great. We're great."

That's all he says, but Margaret has a feeling that's all he needs to say.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, Benson and Rigby are standing in the kitchen door, watching. Mordecai notices and gives them an amused look, but soon they come out and join them.

"I'm sorry Rigby forgot to tell you about dressing up," Benson talks to Margaret but glares at Rigby. Rigby shrugs it off and pops some cheese and cracker in his mouth.

"It's fine, I'm happy to even be invited." Benson and Margaret share a smile, and Mordecai goes over to squeeze Benson's hand. The action makes Margaret swoon. "You two need to stop being adorable!"

"Yes, before we toss our adorable cookies everywhere," Rigby groans.

Margaret bonks her inconsiderate boyfriend on the head. And really, it's not even that hard Rigby's such a baby.

Mordecai snaps his fingers, "Shit! Glasses. I'll get them,"

He kisses the top of Benson's dome and retreats into the kitchen. Benson looks after him, and when he goes back to look at Margaret and Rigby, the former is giving another swoon and the latter is mimicking vomiting.

"Margaret!" a small voice calls out. Margaret turns around and sees Eileen in a black sleeveless dress with Don trailing behind her in a tux. "You got here safe!"

"No thanks to Rigby's crappy directions," Margaret pinches Rigby. Rigby, unsurprisingly, pinches back.

"Rigbone's never had a great sense of direction," Don admitted. "Hey, Margaret!"

Margaret smiles and waves at the taller raccoon brother, while Don winks.

"Got 'em!" Mordecai announces, but he groans when he sees Don and Eileen have joined the group and goes back in. Benson makes an exasperated gesture, which tells Margaret Mordecai must drive the poor guy crazy.

They're still adorable though.

Mordecai emerges with two more glasses, and the group cheers, making the rest of the chatting guests cheer although they're not entirely sure why they're cheering in the first place. They raise their filled glasses and wait for someone to make a toast, which Mordecai decides to take charge of once done pouring the smaller group's drinks.

"Uh," Mordecai projects, and Benson squeezes his hand for good luck. He laughs. "I'm one of the groundskeepers at the park. And I'm screwing the boss so technically that makes me half the boss-"

"Mordecai," Benson facepalms.

"But only technically! And apparently I'm supposed to be making a super inspirational toast about the new year and new beginnings and... y'know... the usual Hallmark crap. But I... I really don't think I need to make any resolutions for the next go around."

Mordecai turns to Rigby. "I've got a friend, a best friend, who sticks by my side no matter what." Rigby smiles down at his feet. Mordecai faces Don and Eileen. "A sort of adoptive big/little brother and sister." Don and Eileen blush madly. Mordecai faces Margaret and smiles warmly. "A second cousin I had no idea about but am nonetheless thrilled to get to know."

Margaret doesn't know why, but coming from Mordecai it means a lot. That he says that. She wants to know him better too.

Mordecai pauses when he hears a battle cry and a crash up stairs. "Some weird uncles I don't hang out with much. And for good reason."

Mordecai finally raises Benson's hand, which is firmly in his, and kisses it. Benson kisses Mordecai's hand in return. "A person I'm proud to call all mine."

Pops waves at Mordecai after he seemingly materializes from behind the television.

"Oh~ Mordecai! Who am I in your odd family tree?"

"Pops, you're the grandfather who's slowly but surely losing his mind," Mordecai tells him matter of factly.

"Wonderful!" Pops exclaims. He tips his hat to him and stands next to Don, humming with excitement.

"And these people," Mordecai continues, "these crazy, annoying, irritating, unbelievably immature, petty, offensive... beautiful, extraordinary, irreplaceable people... I needed them to make it through this year. And I'm going to need them to make it through the next one and the one after that. So let's lift our glasses and thank our asses that you guys exist."

Hands clap and glasses are raised sky high. Eventually they're brought down to clink against their neighbors eagerly.

When Margaret clinks with Rigby, the little devil takes his New Year's kiss early. Mordecai gives Benson a quick peck.

Then Margaret politely removes Rigby's tongue from her throat and clinks with Mordecai, who looks star struck.

"Happy New Year's, Mordecai," Margaret says.

"Happy... Hey! You remembered my name!"

Mordecai claps for her, though it's not meant mockingly. Margaret literally pats herself on the back.

"I deserve a medal."

"Let's not get carried away, now."

They clink their glasses and Margaret tries to call Mordecai by his first name all night.

Because from the way everyone's eyes are shining and the almost unbearable feeling of family she feels running amongst and through each and every one of them, Margaret just knows she's in for a shit load of awkward moments if she keeps forgetting her soon to be best friend's name.


	18. VHS

17.

Margaret pushes the tape in. After a few seconds of static, the television screen shows her somebody's small bed pushed up against a wall full of band posters.

_"Is it ready?"_ she hears Mordecai ask someone, obviously the person with the camera.

_"Wait, lemme,"_ the camera person says, and then Mordecai's on.

He's looking somewhere off screen. His eyes are hard and lost, but when the camera person coughs, Mordecai's looking into the camera with a softened gaze. He waits, probably for the camera person's okay, then nods.

_"Hey Margaret,"_ Mordecai says, smiling awkwardly and waving.

Margaret waves back and smiles too, knowing full well he can't see her.

_"I know you're probably freaking out right now, because of the whole... situation. I guess I should start by saying I'm sorry for lying. I'm sorry for lying for so long."_

"I forgive you," Margaret says. "It's okay, I forgive you."

Mordecai clears his throat and closes his eyes. When he reopens them, the soft gaze is gone.

_"If you asked me a year ago if I wanted to go through with this, I would have laughed in your face and called you crazy. Firstly because I wouldn't think it was possible... or legal... and secondly because I didn't need a reason to."_ Mordecai looks down momentarily. _"At least back then I didn't."_

Margaret scoots closer to the screen from where she's sitting on the floor.

_"I can't explain to you all of my reasons for doing what I'm about to do to myself,"_ Mordecai continues, "_but I guess the biggest thing pushing me in this direction is you. You're the reason I'm doing this, Margaret."_

Margaret feels something inside of her rip.

_"Of course I love Benson and I want our relationship to be unaffected by... whatever the hell we had... but regardless of his influence, Margaret, I have to be an adult and admit to myself that you... You simply are no good for me."_ Mordecai harshly exhales and it feels like his staring into Margaret's eyes through that camera. of _"You're amazing and refreshing and you're... you're beautiful, Margaret. But I can't... We can not be together. There will be nothing left of either us after the next inevitable break up."_

Her heart breaks up and she feels the tiny pieces, the sharp edges and shards, cut up the rest of her guts and innards.

Mordecai's hands are clasped together tight.

_"You've taught me that it's possible to love and hate someone at the same time. And I think it's best I unlearn that lesson from here on out. Lose my number, lose my address, don't ask about me just... Please pretend that I don't exist. I'll be doing the same."_

The camera person, who has a very deep and weary voice, tells Mordecai he's running out of time.

_"Almost done, Skips,"_ he says, and Mordecai takes a minute to recollect himself. When he looks less fragile, Mordecai says, _"I love you, Margaret. I love you so much I think that it's killing me from the inside out."_

The video just stops. Margaret jumps to her feet and rewinds the tape with her remote. She watches it again. She watches it again after that. And then again after that.

Margaret watches it so many times, that when she glances out of her balcony window she notices the sun almost done rising.

The tape reaches the end once more, and Margaret stands up.

"Say something else," Margaret says, thought she meant to think it.

Mordecai says the same thing he said the last time, and then the tape blacks out. Margaret rewinds, but only to the last minute.

"Say something else," she grits out.

She hits rewind. He says the same thing.

"Say something else," Margaret begs.

Rewind. The same thing.

Margaret throws the VHS remote across her apartment and plops down on her backside.

Margaret looks on her coffee table and she sees the MIA business card with the doctor's writing on it. She folds it in half and shoves it in her pocket.

She's stares at the black screened television like it will jump back to life and Mordecai will tell her that it was all a ploy to trick Benson. That this was the tape he sent out to trick him, and that the second part is really meant for her, and how he loves her and how Margaret has to get everything back to normal.

When she does start to cry, the sensation has to be similar to being shot. The bullet enters Margaret's gut and she holds her abdomen in agony. She lets her body topple over and she's on her carpet now, holding her middle and crying hard, so hard that her eyes are stinging and her stomach is sloshing all over the place.

She wasn't aware of it before, but apparently Margaret is speaking nonsense to herself. She tunes herself out and hugs her abdomen tighter.

Eventually the television goes back to the fuzzy loud static.

Margaret lies there until she's just staring up at the ceiling. She wonders what time it is, and how long it will take to get washed up and dressed.


End file.
